


Kindred

by SophieRipley



Series: Fictober 2016 [4]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Fictober 2016, Leaving Home, New Friendship, One Shot, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRipley/pseuds/SophieRipley
Summary: To avoid an arranged marriage, Judy Hopps fled home, hoping instead to join the King's Army. Along the way, however, she gets caught in a heavy storm and seeks the only shelter she can find: the home of a fox who is more gentle than he appears.





	

Judy Hopps was one of the oldest of Stuart Hopps’s daughters.  As such, she was expected to be married off the day she turned fifteen, and had been betrothed to the child of another family from the time of her birth.  Judy Hopps, however, had no intention to marry some buck she’d never met and fall into the lifestyle of giving birth every month and a half for the rest of her life and pleasing her husband.

The problem was that despite being a manor under the king of Zootopia and thus subject to Zootopia law forbidding arranged marriages, Bunny Burrow was largely self-sufficient county that associated with the crown only insofar as was necessary to settle taxes and as such tended to keep to tradition rather than newer laws whenever they came into conflict.  Judy became a legal adult at fifteen, but the only real legal recourse she had to avoid the marriage…was to leave Bunny Burrow.  If she crossed the border into Zootopia proper she’d be out of the reach of bunny traditions, but at the cost of her family, inheritance, and everything she’d ever known.

If it had been simply the marriage she objected to, Judy might have stayed and simply refused to bed her husband without some kind of contraceptive.  But Judy had seen the columns of chain-clad soldiers marching from Zootopia to the front lines of the war with Sionnach, the sovereign city-state of the fox clan.  She had seen how proud those mammals were with their chain armor and emblems of the King upon their breast.  She had seen how honorably they held themselves, how helpful they’d been to peasants even though they were only passing through.

She had seen how they stood out from the crowd, defied tradition, and risked life and limb to defend the lifestyle King Lionheart had forged in Zootopia wherein clan lines blurred and many species cooperated in peace.

Judy had been bitten by the fever of service and wanted nothing to stand in the way of her right to take up arms for the Crown.  It was for this reason that Judy took her pack and filled it to bursting with everything she owned the night before her birthday.  In fairness “everything she owned” was not much:  some simple clothing, a heavy wool cloak, a bundle of tools, a satchel of herbs and spices for medicinal and cooking usage, and a pair of hand-forged karambits, the deadly claw-shaped daggers native to Bunny Burrow.  She had little else, a waterskin and small purse with a handful of coins strapped to her belt.  Judy even carried no food, expecting she’d be able to forage as she went with little trouble.

As soon as dawn approached Judy slung her pack, wrapped her cloak about herself, and walked out of the Hopps warren, expecting to never return.  She left before even her father woke, offering no farewells and receiving none in return. 

It took Judy four days to reach the border of Bunny Burrow.  When she did, she crossed it with no hesitation and no fear.  There were several domains between her home and her destination, but it was all under the rule of Lionheart and Zootopia so she was unafraid.  Judy was confident in her ability to defend herself from attackers, provide food for herself, and even navigate with a minimum of interaction with others.  She knew she could make it.

What she did not foresee, however, was a change in weather.  On the sixth day out from home, it began raining.  By itself, this was of little concern to the bunny.  Her cloak, made from wool donated by a friend, was excellent at shedding water and would keep her warm even if the temperature dropped as it often did during the autumn.  When the rain continued, though, throughout the morning and into the afternoon, Judy did become a bit concerned.  And it continued even further, well into evening.  So persistent was the moderate rain that she couldn’t get a fire started and spent the evening huddled under a tree in the cold of the evening.

Her hopes that the rain would flee come morning were dashed as well.  Thanks to the rain she hadn’t been able to forage the previous day and was hungry; as the rain continued with no sign of abatement she looked forward to a second day with no food. 

By evening, the rain had picked up.  Where before it was a constant shower, neither light nor heavy, now it was a veritable gale.  The rain came in sheets, the wind of the growing storm whipping her cloak around.  So much water was falling on her that her cloak soaked through, water piercing her canvas clothing and even her fur.  The temperature had dropped as well; coupled with the wetness, she found herself freezing.  And it was so dark that she became quite lost, left the road long behind seeking shelter of any kind at all.

Judy had lost track of how long she stumbled, shivering, through the forest in the heavy sheeting rain, but at long last she saw a spark of hope in the form of a light through the trees.  Light could only mean settlement, and settlement meant shelter.  She ran as fast as she could through the trees to it, and when she reached the small stone hut with its thatched roof she didn’t even wait to knock, simply slung the door open and rushed in, slamming the rough-hewn wood closed against the storm.

The hearth was quite lively indeed with a large fire lit within the carved stone of the fireplace.  A stark difference it was from outside where it was cold and wet:  inside, the fire was hot and the flagstone floor was dry.  Well, mostly dry:  Judy was dripping onto the stone at a prodigious rate.

“Thank Serendipity,” muttered Judy.  She shed her cloak, letting it fall to the ground, and set aside her bag, and looked around her.  The room was not very large, a single rough-carved table and one chair the corner near the hearth.  There was also a large wooden chest and what appeared to be a cabinet or wardrobe next to the door.  There was another door opposite the table.   Upon the table was an unlit candle and a pewter flagon.

There were no occupants in the room, and it didn’t even occur to her to expect one in her tired, starved, and cold state.  She continued to strip out of her sopping clothes, edging as close to the hearth as she could without burning her fur off.

The other door, the one she’d noticed but not really registered in her mind, creaked open behind her and before she could turn round a large paw had grabbed her roughly around the mouth, the other paw pushing the point of a blade into her back hard enough to hurt.  A thick wave of musk washed over her from her assailant, a powerful scent not unlike violets.

“You have exactly one chance to explain why you’ve raided my home before I spill your lifeblood,” purred the decidedly male voice behind her.  The paw around her mouth descended to grab her throat tight enough to restrain her without restricting her breathing.

Judy didn’t even try to grab him, her arms held gently out in surrender.  “I got caught in the storm,” said the bunny, still shivering.  “I’ve been trying to find shelter since the rain started yesterday, and when it turned into a heavy storm I lost the road.”

“That makes it okay to enter my home uninvited?”  The blade at her back twisted and the paw at her throat became all the more threatening as claws extended to prick at the downy fur there.

“Please,” said Judy, a measure of strength in the plea.  “I’m cold and hungry and wet.  I just need shelter until the storm ends, and then I’ll be gone.  I’ll even pay you, though I have little coin.”

Her assailant didn’t respond for a moment, but then he chuckled.  “You’ll pay how, if you have no coin?  Will you pay in flesh, freely given?  Satisfy your host’s bed?”

Judy stiffened in his grip, and when she did he laughed out loud and withdrew.  When she turned, her breath caught in her throat and a thrill of fear ran through her body, electric and paralyzing.  Standing before her was a fox, in all his glory.  Clad only in the soft kilt native to his culture, a sporran hanging in front preserving his modesty, the fox’s orange back and side fur and the softer, creamy belly fur on display.  His muscles were well-defined even through the fur, and his teeth were white and sharp and not at all concealed as he continued to chuckle at her expense.  Perhaps most striking of all were his eyes, a brilliant green as rare for foxes as her own violet were for rabbits.

He pushed the simple dagger in his paw into a sheath attached to his sporran belt.

“If that nose twitched any faster,” said the fox as he turned toward the room from which he’d come, “it would fall off.”  He disappeared into the other room.

“F-fox,” stammered Judy.  Now that the shock of seeing one so far from Sionnach had passed, she darted to her belt, so carelessly cast aside, and pulled her karambits from it, whirling back around to face the doorway in a combat-ready pose, both daggers point-down in her grip.  She had little training, but was confident enough to at least survive the encounter.

A long moment later, the fox came back out.  He’d put on a rough-spun tunic and was carrying a large bundle of cloth, and when he saw her weapons he shook his head.

“I’m not going to eat you, Carrots.”  He unfolded the bundle of cloth:  a tartan blanket with the same green-violet-red-black pattern as his kilt.  “You are naked though and that’s really quite distracting.”

“You’re gonna want to refrain from calling me Carrots,” said Judy without dropping from her defensive pose.  He was a fox.  Of course he was lying.

“Sorry, Miss.”  He didn’t sound very sorry.  “Since I don’t have your name, well…it seemed only natural to call you that.  Don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t.” 

The fox rolled his eyes and sighed, then brandished the blanket at her.  “Seriously, Carrots, please take the blanket.  You’re very cute, but if I have to stare at your womanhood all night it’s going to be a very long evening for me.”

“Don’t call me cute.”

“Okay,” sighed the fox in exasperation.  “Look.  I’m serious.  Take the damned blanket, please, or leave.  I’m not going to hurt you.  If I wanted to, I’d have stabbed you when I had you defenseless.”  She didn’t reply, but her paws lowered a little and her hard expression softened into one of confusion.  The fox shook the blanket at her encouragingly.  “You know you want it.  All warm…and inviting…and _dry_ ….”

Slowly, Judy lowered her karambits, set them on the table beside her, and then she darted forward, took the blanket from him, and jumped back to the other side of the room where she wrapped it around herself.

The fox chuckled, then turned to the large cabinet and opened it to reveal stores of food.  From it he pulled a wooden cup, a small loaf of bread, a slab of cheese, and a handful of dried blueberries, all of which he set on the table. 

“Sit,” said the fox, pointing to the chair.  Then he sat on the floor near the hearth, another loaf of bread in hand.  “Wine in the flagon.  Eat up, Carrots.”  He began to take her wet clothes and lay them upon the hearth to dry.

She sat, then gingerly lifted her bread and sniffed it delicately.  “Judy.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Judy.  Hopps.”  She nibbled at the bread, and found the dense sourdough to actually be quite tasty.

“You’re from Bunny Burrow, then.”  It was a statement of fact, not a question.  “I’m Nicholas Wilde.  Call me Nick.”  With Judy’s clothes laid out, Nick took a large bite of his own bread and sighed.  “Bread is great, but I’d kill for some haggis.”

Judy swallowed a mouthful of bread.  “What in Serendipity’s name is haggis?”

Nick grinned.  “It’s a food.  Sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs minced with oatmeal, suet, and certain spices, stuffed in a sheep’s stomach, and boiled.  I grew up on it.”

Judy stared at him for a moment, and when she realized he was serious she gingerly set her bread down.  “That’s revolting,” she said.  “And barbaric.”

“Am I a vegetarian?  No, no I am not.”  Nick happily munched on his bread, then spoke again with his mouth full.  “Though I don’t eat meat proper anymore.”  He swallowed.  “I get sustenance from fish.  Some birds.  The use of meat is one reason I left home.  Still…I can’t help but to miss it sometimes.”

After a moment, Judy picked up her bread again.  Her hunger overrode her revulsion.  “How long have you been here?”

Nick adjusted his position, leaned into the wall.  “How long has the war been going on?  Six years?  About that long.  I left when your king declared war on us.”

“They let you leave?”

“No,” replied Nick, looking away.  “They didn’t.”

He’d left, then, despite the expectation he’d fight, she realized.  He’d gone for the very reason she had:  to remove herself from the obligation of a culture he didn’t like.  She could see it on his face, the loss and determination.  He could never return home.

Her heart sang for him.  Called to him, recognizing a kindred spirit.

“You’re a traitor, then,” she said quietly.  He nodded.

“Anyway, enough about me.  What about you, Fluff-butt? What’s got your cute bum so far from home?”

“Don’t call me cute.”  Nonetheless, Judy’s ears reddened at the comment about her rump.  She became distinctly aware of how naked she was under the blanket.  “I was betrothed.  My parents arranged a marriage when I was born to some buck from a neighboring family.  I turned fifteen a week ago, an adult, and was supposed to marry him.”

Nick hummed an acknowledgement, chewing on the last of his bread merrily.  Then, he nodded.  “And you wanted no part of an illegal tradition, so you fled home?”

“I wanted to join the army.”  She poured some wine, sipped it.  “I was never interested in popping out kittens for the rest of my life, I wanted to do some good.  I wanted to protect people.”

“War isn’t about protection, Fluff.  It’s about power.  Gaining power over those you dislike.”

“Lionheart went to war against your people because you were killing us for food,” said Judy heatedly.  “Bunnies died every day from fox hunting parties until Lionheart declared war.”

Nick shook his head calmly, stretched his legs out.  “No,” replied the fox.  “He went to war because if he didn’t, Bunny Burrow would have seceded from the Zootopian monarchy and gone to war themselves.  And he wouldn’t have been able to stop it.  He went to war to preserve his power over you, and to try to gain power over us.”

She didn’t want to accept it, but could offer no argument.  For a long time there was only the sound of the fire, and Judy finished the food she’d been given under the fox’s watchful eye.  He offered no obvious judgment, no clear motive.  He simply sat there, relaxed, and gazed at her as if she were a painting or a lovingly-carved statue.  As time stretched on and her belly became full, Judy’s strength flagged.  She’d been going all week, and spent the last two days in the cold and rain with no food or shelter or rest, and it was catching up with her.  Nick, however sat there attentive and awake despite the late hour.

She’d been taught since she was a child never to enter a fox’s den, never to trust them, never to rest when they were about.  But despite her upbringing, Judy found herself curious about him, and intrigued by him, and she felt impossibly safe.  It defied all reason, but she knew Nicholas Wilde wouldn’t harm her.

And so she slept, and dreamed of warm embraces and a quiet life in a stone cottage in the wood.

 

* * *

 

She’d woken him up.  Nick, as a fox, was quite nocturnal.  That, coupled with the heavy, soothing rain, had ensured he slept well into the dark hours, until his door banged open and the bunny invaded his home.  He wasn’t worried, of course; she was a bunny, he could easily overpower her.  But he was certainly taken aback when she began stripping down like she owned the place.  This, of course, was why he’d been so rough with her to begin with. 

But then he’d noticed that she was shaking like autumn leaves, trembling with cold and weak with hunger and ragged with fatigue and dripping wet, her soft grey fur matted to her body with the rain.  So of course he’d given her a blanket.  Of course he’d given her food.  Because little Judy Hopps was cold and frightened and lonely and needed a friendly paw. 

It didn’t help that she was insufferably attractive.

He hadn’t lied when he told her that he’d left home because the foxes of Sionnach still ate meat.  He had, however, omitted a crucial detail:  he had been ostracized, banished upon pain of death.  They taught him that rabbits were cruel in their meekness, hateful in their numbers, duplicitous in their fatuity.  They taught that rabbits were the expression of Karma’s Shadow, the dark side of the bitch goddess of balance, the righting of the scales against the purity of Fox Sovereignty. 

So when Nick befriended a rabbit who had happened to cross the border by accident, helped her to find her way, they questioned him about his motives.  Queried why he wouldn’t simply take the prey to feed his family, as they so rightly deserved.  When he explained that he felt sorry for her, when he—the idiot that he was—told them he found her attractive, they saw him as a blood-traitor and not worth having.  He’d fled, knowing he could never return.

Now, as if Karma were mocking him, came a bunny in need again.  And again he didn’t hesitate to help her. 

And again he was smitten by her beauty.

The delicate grey of her fur contrasted brilliantly with the bold violet of her eyes, and the narrow torso flared pleasingly into her hips.  Her legs were strong, her wiggly twitchy tail small and fluffy, and her ears as expressive as his own tail. 

He knew they had a lot in common, each fleeing the perceived persecution of their own kind.  He fled a culture of violence and deceit, while she fled a culture of complacency and stifling tradition.  They were kindred spirits, and his heart sang for her.

The rain continued to beat his house impotently, the storm raged on, and the bunny’s exhaustion caught up with her.  He watched as she devoured the food he’d given her, drank the wine he’d offered.  Nick watched as she fought the battle in herself between listening to her upbringing and listening to her instincts.  He watched as her instincts won out, and he watched as she slowly, slowly drifted to sleep on his table, her head cradled in her arms and the blanket slipping off her shoulder to expose her bare side. 

He continued to watch for a few minutes as her sleep deepened, and when he was certain she would not wake he stood, gently lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the other room where his bed lay.  It was a simple pallet of straw-stuffed linen, but it was certainly softer than the table.  He gently laid Judy on the bed, covered her nude form carefully with his blanket to make sure she’d keep warm, and smiled as she burrowed unconsciously into the bed.  He couldn’t know that the scent of fox was why she smiled so sweetly in her sleep.  He couldn’t know that she’d already associated him with safety and warmth, and had never slept so deeply even around her own family.  He couldn’t know, and yet some part of him was aware.  So he watched her for a few minutes, making sure she was safe.  When he retired to the other room to write at length into his journal, he kept a mindful ear toward her room.

Morning would come.  The storm would end, and he knew the little brave rabbit would hop along out of his life to pursue a life of honor and combat.  He wouldn’t try to stop her.

But maybe, just maybe…he’d follow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for Fictober 2016, week four, under the prompt Hearth. I might have strayed a bit from the original focus of the prompt, but I think it turned out really well. I hope you enjoyed!


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